


what was lost, will soon be found

by thespiritscalling



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:53:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespiritscalling/pseuds/thespiritscalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Come with me."</p>
<p>He takes her hand, and together they run, to escape the weights of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what was lost, will soon be found

"Come. Come with me." Her hand was outstretched, an invitation to the worlds beyond the doors of his own house. It beckoned to his heart, made the want inside of him squirm and scream and beg to be let out, to let go, and he embraced it wholeheartedly, letting it fill him completely.

He reached out and took her hand, and together they ran, into the streets and the darkening sky.

He swore he had never felt more alive than in that moment; true, pure happiness was upon him as they raced through cobbled streets and weaved through hastily bricked buildings. Her laughter carried over the wind like the ringing of bells. His laugher carried below, as deep, rich undertones that kept the sound steady and true around them. 

They kept running.

The pinking sky bled into midnight as they reached the wooden docks, standing out over the gentle waves lapping at the pier. Salted wind blew at their faces, lifting her hair up and behind them and coloring it just slightly against the sky. Her dress flew against her ankles, uncaring of the dirt that adorned the bottom hem or the tear that followed the seam up the right side. Her hand was warm.

They stood.

Never again would he have to keep himself locked away in a single room, filling pages and pages of writing with the life he had once had, now stored away in millions of tomes decorating towering bookshelves. Now, he would live the words he drew onto the page, learn to love as he had once pictured love to be like, and become enveloped in the freedom that had plagued his memories for so long. And she would be right there beside him for it all.

They moved to the wall for the remainder of the darkness. They sat, in a bundle of soft sand and grass that had been left by the sea as a token of the current. It had long since been dried by the breeze, and they stayed connected, by hand or by mouth, deep into slumber until the morning sun rose again.

Boats began to amble into the harbor and crew workers began to bustle about around them, shouting out commands, docking ships, and hauling supplies. Few paused to heed them any acknowledgement, but it went unnoticed, as the couple were unoccupied with any thoughts of what others would see. They were their own selves now. It was their own life.

"Let's board a ship," she whispered to him softly, her breath toying with the inside of his ear. "We can escape this horrid place."

He turned his head to her, ever so slowly, reaching a hand up and brushing back a strand of windblown hair from her forehead. "There is nothing I would enjoy more."

The laughter rang freely once more, a soft sleigh bell amidst the metallic clangs of iron ships' bells and sailors' warnings. Warmth began to spread to every crevice of their world, every darkened corner, every hidden cavern that had been unshared. With her, he would be truly free from the burden of family, the weight that had become part of him since he stepped foot into his home. With him, she could be her own person.

Together, they chose a mild hauling ship, with plenty of storage, plenty of food, and enough space to hide comfortably. It would be a long journey; sailing the ocean was a treacherous task that neither had ever dared, but it was a welcome challenge now. Together, they fit themselves in, stowing deep in a corner of the hold, beside a barrel reeking of alcohol and a crudely labeled crate that would not be bothered by the sailors. 

They could not see the warmth of the sky as it glowed yellow, as the sun sank deep under the ocean and as the sails were raised. They could not see the blue depths of the water beneath them, but they could feel the pulse of the waves, lifting them up and down with the same gentle force as a rocking chair. They saw nothing but darkness, and the wooden interior of the hold was their home. But the wooden hold was home, and the darkness was welcomed, and in the darkness they found light in each other.

As any match will slowly curl down until there is nothing left but a sliver of blackened wood, the comfort would not last for long.

Weeks into the voyage found a great storm, raging and thrashing as if the sea itself was angry at the mere thought of the ship. Waves punched at the hull of the ship as roaring wind threatened to tear holes in the wide sails. Rain poured down in torrents, soaking any poor sailor that dared step outside. Lightning was constant even as the swollen clouds blocked the sun, and with every flash came the risk of fire, the chance that entire masts would be brought down with a single bolt.

Still, they stayed, in the middle of the unrelenting ocean, holding onto each other as if it was the only thing keeping them alive. With every unbalanced rock of the ship, their stomachs turned, and the sickness came soon after. The barrel of ale had turned on its side and spilled across the floor planks, the scent thickly mixing with the overly pungent smell of sickness. 

However, the ship stayed true. Its master-built siding survived the attacks from the water. The tightly woven sails kept sailing as the wind clawed at them. The voyage continued.

The storm calmed down, and the captain promised that the end of the wreckage was in sight. The bouncing of the ship on the waves had returned to a more graceful rocking, and the weather no longer threatened to bring down the ship at every new flash or defeaning rumble. 

They held tightly to each other and laughed quietly, blocking out the sounds of shouting from the deck above them. The world, no matter how against them it seemed, would not win. They would prevail, one way or another.

They were successful.

On the day the ship landed, docked on a coast across the world, they stood for the first time. She let the folds of her dress, now musty and worn, flutter against the calm breeze of the new world. He held her hand as they ran down the plank, ignoring the shouts of workers behind them. They ran, hand in hand again, past carriages and shops and people calling merrily in the street. 

No other time had he felt more alive than he had with her. She was a beacon of life, and now, in this new world, she could let it free, dampened not by the oppression of the old town. She could be her own, and she could be his, and he could be hers, all at the same time. And they would be happy.

They found themselves stopping on a green hill overlooking the ocean. Ships loaded in the far distance, a few foggy smudges against the bright horizon. Once again, the wind blew her hair, and the dress, and brought the smell of fresh seawater to them. Once again, they stared out over the gentle crooks in the water, watched as they methodically graced the rockbed, always a steady beat of tranquility.

She pointed.

"Look at what we did," she said, quietly, and the awe in her voice was genuine. "We sailed. We survived."

"That we did," he said, equally awed. He reached out and took her outstretched hand in his, and they turned toward each other, connected in a circle, a sign of an end never to come. "And we can do so much more."

She smiled. "So much more," she echoed. "And we will be together for all of it."

Their lives stretched out as infinitely as the ocean ahead of them, and infinity is what they would have.

**Author's Note:**

> In which I realize, at 11pm, that I desperately want to get lost in my writing. So I do.


End file.
